Of Alliance and Rebellion (13 page)

When Luke’s eyes widened behind his glasses, Anahita realized that she’d said at least part of her thoughts aloud. What was
wrong
with her? Angels were never this indiscreet!

“I could help you with that, you know,” Luke said softly and urgently. “If you really want to know what it’s like.”

He was leaning in closer as he spoke, and that was when Anahita knew she’d crossed a line. She really, truly liked Luke, but even with her inexperience, she knew that Luke liked her in a different way,
and
that he had delicate feelings. As Luke’s lips softened, she recognized that she was in a mess.

• • •

Why was he doing this?

Max watched his feet as they inexplicably took him down the hall, away from Oliver’s unconscious form so close to regenerating. He had a feeling they were taking him to the angel.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? He
was
walking to the angel’s quarters. To interrupt Luke as he did what he did best. Like he didn’t trust his friend.

He
didn’t
trust his friend.

The realization struck him painfully, and guilt flared behind it. Max didn’t know of a person more trustworthy than Luke.

But something primal roared within him whenever he thought about Anahita. He was no more in control of his feelings for her than he had been of his situation in prison. And, honestly, the lack of control over his feelings was much,
much
worse than his lack of control in prison. He’d gotten through his imprisonment by assuring himself that he’d never be naïve again. No, his rose-colored glasses were shattered beyond repair, and, yet, here he was stalking down the hallway toward an angel he didn’t want but somehow needed.

He was resentful as hell.

He felt the eyes of Eli, Jericho, and especially Jayden as he walked through the main room of the compound. He pointedly ignored them. If they spoke to him, he did not know what he would do or say that might be embarrassing, so not making eye contact was his only recourse.

He shook his head as he neared the angel’s doorway; this was the second time he’d come here uninvited and with some half-cocked idea of “claiming his territory”—a sentiment he was beginning to realize the angel resented if her reaction to him saying she was his in the main room was any indication.

As he stalled in front of the angel’s door, he frowned. When he’d been here before, he’d had no trouble hearing the other man’s voice through the door. And that had been a low-volume conversation.

He couldn’t hear anything now.

For the first time since leaving Oliver’s side on this stupid,
stupid
mission, Max wondered if his concern was actually merited.

Yours
, the Voice whispered to him. Max jolted. The Voice had not spoken to him since telling him Anahita was his One. Its sudden reappearance was both acknowledgement that Max should be worried, and the prod he needed to act.

He swallowed hard as his hand reached for the doorknob and turned—it was unlocked. The door swung inward with barely a sound, which seemed to mock the volatile effect of what Max saw.

Luke had his fingers in Max’s angel’s hair.
In her hair
. The hair that was as smooth as silk and smelled of lilies. But what nearly sent Max to his knees was the fact that Luke’s lips were a scant breath away from the angel’s, and getting closer by every thundering heartbeat in Max’s chest.

Something in the back of Max’s mind exploded, sending sharp shrapnel through every thread of affection Max held for Luke.

“I am going to kill you,” Max said calmly.

He was still present enough to notice that both Anahita and Luke stiffened on the couch, and that Anahita launched herself away from Luke, her body hitting the arm of the sofa with an audible thud. But Luke simply sat there; his usually kind face was defiant, and his eyes flashed behind the glasses he wore in order to appear non-threatening to targets. It was that defiance that launched Max into action.

His boots pounded the floor and his fingers wrapped around Luke’s neck, hauling the man to his feet. Anahita’s gasp fell on deaf ears as Max’s blood roared through them, blocking out all other sounds. “Anahita is
mine
!” Max roared into Luke’s reddening face. “Not yours,” he continued. “
Never yours
.” He threw Luke to the floor, and the man skidded a couple of feet, his eyes never leaving Max’s.

“Don’t you think that’s for her to decide?” Luke rasped, his hand coming up to rub the red marks Max’s fingers left behind.

“No!”

Anahita spluttered from her position on the couch and launched herself to her feet, and for the first time since seeing them together, Max tried to rein in his runaway temper. He could only do so—and, still, almost totally ineffectually—by maintaining eye contact with Luke. And to Max’s further ire, Luke smiled wryly, the message clear: Max was digging his own grave without Luke’s help.

“Fine,” Max gritted out, bracing himself and turning to face the angel. Her face was twisted with a range of emotion, but anger and a hint of shame vied for the place of prominence. “You were going to
kiss
him?” he spit out. Immediately, he cringed at the level of hurt the simple question contained.

Anahita apparently heard it too, much to his horror, because her twisted face relaxed and the anger blanched away. Her hands twisted in front of her, and she looked down at them. “N-no.”

“You ...
wanted
to kiss him?”
Please, God
, he found himself thinking,
let her say no
. He could feel the tension radiating from Luke on the floor as the red-haired man waited for the same answer that would either give Max back his breath or steal it forever.

“I ... wanted
a
kiss,” Anahita said in halting syllables, her eyes still focused on her clenched fingers.

Luke hissed in a breath in the silence that followed the angel’s declaration, and the man’s disappointment was heavy in the air. But Max could also feel Luke’s reluctant surrender.

“Get out,” Max said. His eyes were still locked with Anahita’s, but no one in the room was fooled as to whom he addressed.

With a soft groan, Luke struggled to his feet, and Max felt his first stab of regret that he’d struck his closest friend and ally. He bit back the apology that formed on his tongue, however. There was no need to get crazy.

As Luke shuffled toward the door and closed it behind him, Max clenched and unclenched his hands, hoping the constant motion would keep him from grabbing the angel to his chest and going primal on her.

A kiss
. His angel wanted to experience a kiss and, apparently, was willing to go to someone else to do so.

The fact that he had not met one of her needs bit at him. But at the same time, panic ate at him, too. He’d vowed to himself that he would maintain an emotional distance from this creature. He was
never
going back to the place where he trusted people not to hurt him.

A kiss was ...
intimate
. Breathing for each other. Tasting each other. Could he kiss her and keep distance?

He brought his eyes to hers and looked through his lashes, convincing himself it did not quite count as eye contact this way. His mind brought forth the image of Luke leaning into her, his lips about to touch hers, and Max decided: It didn’t matter if it was difficult to maintain distance. He was going to kiss her.

He raised his chin and locked eyes with her for the first time since entering the room, and he was again reminded that the angel was both good and evil. With this reminder came another: His face was carved up like a pumpkin. It was because of his twisted eye that he was even able to get a read on the angel at all.

He’d washed himself, had trimmed his beard a little, but not enough that it did not still hide a good deal of his scar. With all of these changes, his hair was just as long as it had been, and now, with a mind of its own, his hand rose and shuffled his hair over his lacerated eye. Immediately, the knowledge that the angel was good and evil disappeared. Instead, the very ordinary and instinctive knowledge that he wanted this angel bloomed within him, suffocating even his shame at his looks.

He kept his hand over the ruined half of his face and moved toward Anahita. Her head tipped back as she watched him approach, and he saw the pupils of her eyes expand and take over the beautiful blue.

When they were toe to toe, Max whispered, “Let’s get one thing straight, angel.” His words rustled the tighter, golden waves that surrounded her face, and he was so captivated by the sight that he forgot what he was going to say. He shook his head to clear it and narrowed his good eye at her. “You got any needs,
I
meet them. Understand?”

She said nothing, and unease itched at the base of Max’s spine. She was staring at him so hard. Could she see beneath his hand to the horror it covered? She tilted her head to the side and spoke. “Does the same paradigm apply to you?” she asked.

His head rocked back, and he felt his brows crash down over his eyes. A million retorts perched on his lips:
No!
and
It’s none of your damn business!
among them
.
What came out was a breathless, “Do you want it to?”

Fuck
. He wanted to call the words back. He did
not
know that question had been brewing in there.

With her head still tilted to the side, Anahita smiled softly. He saw her hand move, and the next thing he knew, she’d placed her open palm over the hand that still covered his eye. “Yes,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened over his, and she began to pull his hand away from his face.

A ragged noise nearly choked him, and the muscles in his arm tensed as he fought to keep his hand in place. “No,” he said roughly.

Anahita’s hand stilled. Her smile slipped, and disappointment filled her eyes. Her hand dropped to her side once more, and she broke eye contact, staring at a spot over Max’s left shoulder.

He felt the absence of her gaze, but schooled himself not to react. This is what he wanted. What he
needed
. Distance.

With his free hand, he reached up and grasped Anahita’s chin with his thumb, turning her face. Her eyes crashed back to his, and he could see himself in them as they widened. He looked pathetic: his fingers sprawled over most of his face, his visible eye desperate. He wanted to shrivel up and crouch in a corner to lick his wounds. Instead, he whispered, “A kiss. You want, I deliver.”

Her lips parted, and her eyes darted down to his mouth. Perfect.
Here goes nothing
. He lowered his head slowly, giving her plenty of time to understand what was happening.

His grip on her chin tightened as her breaths crossed his lips. It dawned on him how badly he wanted to do this when that grip trembled slightly. All the more reason to distance himself. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see her and crossed the remaining distance needed to press their lips together.

A thousand thoughts exploded like stars in his mind.
Soft
. Her mouth was so damned soft. And warm.
Comforting
, of all damn things, while at the same time revving his engine so fucking much he thought he would die if he was not inside her in the next handful of moments.

Their lips were barely touching.

Distance!

She gasped, and the action pulled him further into her, interlocking their mouths so that the tip of his tongue got the briefest taste of her lush bottom lip.

His hand fell from his face.

Anahita’s mind reeled. Was that his
tongue
brushing across her bottom lip?

So, tasting each other this way
was
acceptable. At least, it was acceptable between Max and her, apparently. That single, velvet caress of his tongue across the sensitive skin of her lip was going to be her undoing, for that action made her want to commit a dozen more actions: embrace him, press her breasts into his chest, feel him between his legs again, return the lick.

It was too many ideas at once, and her mind grasped on the easiest of those at this moment: return the lick.

Anahita tilted her head and jumped when her nose bumped into his. Heat flooded her cheeks. That wasn’t supposed to have happened, was it? Most High, she was an idiot.

“’S okay,” he muttered against her lips. And then he grasped her face with both of his hands and tilted it the way she had been aiming to do so herself.

That was when she realized he’d dropped his hand from covering his face. Her eyes popped open. She wanted to
see
him. To see all of him. The few glimpses of his face he’d afforded her since entering the room had been tantalizing to the extreme: a groomed beard, hair that was clean and looked so soft.

With her eyes now open, she could see the scar that he’d attempted to hide from her. His eyes were closed, and the scar crossed his face uninterrupted by the glowing eye that saw so much. He had thick lashes for a man, and they rested against the skin right beneath his eyes.

He was beautiful, and at the same time, he was not. That scar prevented him from being pretty—which, from this close, Anahita could see he had been before his injury.

And he took her breath away.

Physical longing panged low in her belly, and her eyes slid closed once more. She could not look at him and keep her composure. She was not sure she could keep her composure
now
.

Max was pressing his lips to hers again, and when she felt that same, wet lick along her bottom lip, she was reminded of her plan to return the favor. His top lip nestled between hers, and she slid her tongue over her teeth and touched the tip to his skin.

Mint
. Smooth as silk. As addicting as she had feared.

Her lungs felt too full, and she breathed out all of her air, not realizing it would enter his mouth. She felt his chest billow out as he took her air into his own lungs, and she grew dizzy at the headiness of something that had been in her body entering his.

She licked him again, this time less tentatively, running her tongue from one side of his lip to the other. Some deep, rough noise sounded from his gut, and the fingers against her face spasmed, gripping her tightly before they relaxed once more.